The Exterminator (A Traumatizing Sally Story)

One warm, lazy morning, Sally was happily dozing in her comfy bed, only barely thinking about getting up for the day. Suddenly, the doorbell rang (quite loudly, I might add).

Sally scrambled to put some decent clothes on and get to the door. The bell continued to ring - no time for a bra!

Sally rushed out into the foyer to be met by her neighbor from upstairs, who was rushing down the steps. Sally turned to see a man with a tank of sorts outside the main door. The neighbor rushed to the door, greeted the exterminator-looking man, and quickly tried to usher him upstairs. "My apartment is upstairs!" she said.

"No worries, I'll get to you. I have to spray everyone, so I may as well start on the ground floor." Reluctantly, Sally ushered him inside.

The exterminator-man got out his tank and hose and began to spray what looked like nothing more than water along the kitchen cabinets and bathroom floor. "Had any issues?" he asked.

"Maybe a cockroach here or there, and some ants, but that's about it," Sally replied, while awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, I see... Any mice?"

"Um... No."

"Ok. Well, have a nice day." And with that, he was gone.

Now Sally was paranoid. Were there mice in the house? What had he sprayed on the floor? Why did it look like water? Would it hurt her roommates cats?

Sally reminded herself that she'd never had mice problems before, and that maybe this would start to kill off the other pests. She shrugged it off and went about her day (starting by putting on a bra).

That night, Sally lay in bed, just beginning to doze off, when something came careening through the open bedroom window. Soon, an agitating howl was heard from the kitchen. Sally dragged her ass back out of bed to see what the hell was going on.

Sure enough, one of the cats had caught a mouse and brought it in. Had they been the issue this whole time?

Sally ran for a pair of gloves and chased relentlessly after the cat. The last thing she needed was a dead mouse stuck in the nooks of the house. Finally, Sally caught up to the cat and managed to pry the rodent from its not-so-tight grasp. Out the door the poor thing went, and the now empty-handed cat made a point of hating Sally for all of 5 minutes.

The end.

Moral of the story: Exterminators don't make much difference when the cats are involved.

Ho-mance

So, I wrote this some time ago and found it today on a scrap of paper. Thought my Sammi might get a kick out of it. It's terrible, I know, but I kinda like it that way.

Ho-mance

In high-school we just had to get away
The pressure of being good all day
Honor roll, Queens of Stage
Passing notes on blue-lined page

Before and after you'd drive from A to B
And I was happy from A to Z
If it meant you were there next to me.
In your car or anywhere you are
That's where I want to be,
In your car or anywhere you are.

The scenery is always the same
Fishtank house, a stalking game
We only met because of a guy
Wasting gas, fueling a rant

Boys are silly things at best
And we've stayed longer than the rest
R.I.P. your jeans, and oh my breasts!
Smoking til our lips turn blue
Listening to nineties tunes,
'Cause that's just how we do.

Oh, what a glad ho-mance!

Gender Stereotruths

So, I ran across this vid last night, If Guys Were Like Girls:

And the 2nd one:

At first, I found it mildly entertaining in a guys know nothing about girls sort of way. Who does yoga in their socks? Is this the way they see us? Of course, I was basing that on myself and my Sammi. I do love the "haircut!" bit, because I do this as a default compliment thing. And honestly, these guys are great at the characters they've chosen, and their group chemistry is amazing. But overall, I thought it was a bit of a stretch. I mean, who freaks out about a "relationship" after two weeks?

Then I thought about that for a minute and was horrified to realize that I do actually know girls who act like this. I want to punch them in the face every single time I have to hear about their relationship problems. Because they aren't in a relationship. They are in a stalkership. And they freak out over every little thing a guy says/does and over-analyze it to death and tell me they wish they could "just not care" the way I do.

So that freaked me out for a minute. Like PTSD from dealing with that all the time. Then I clicked on this:

and this:

And life was somehow better again. Also, I might be a dude. Like, in my heart-soul.

Laundry Day (A Traumatizing Sally Story)

Today was one of Sally's first days off in the big city. Sally thought to herself, I can think of no better way to spend my day off than doing laundry in this apartment I am renting. Doing the laundry is such a refreshing and energizing task. I can't wait!

Sally may have had too much to drink this morning.

Nevertheless, Sally went right to work. After buying some cheap detergent down the street, she came back and fiddled with the buttons and dials on the old washing machine, just like her roommate had done the other day. However, when she opened the lid, she was surprised to find a large army of ants. Ants upon ants upon ants. They seemed to be using the inside of the machine as a modern day anthill!

Well, I'm smarter than any old little ant, Sally thought. I'll just run an empty cycle to drown them all out, and wipe up the outside of the machine. So she let some water run its course through the machine, and found some rubbing alcohol to get those ants so mighty drunk they would die. And then she could do a clean load of laundry.

NOPE.

To Sally's dismay, while many of the ants drowned, many more simply found someplace to hide. And while sanitizing their tracks should have deterred them, it seems as though the ants were quite fond of the alcohol.

Sally was left with a choice: Try to do a load of laundry at the apartment in the old machine, or haul her undies down the street to the laundromat. I'll try it here this time, and see how it goes. Maybe it won't be so bad, she thought.

While a few ants may have slipped into the water while washing, everything seemed to be going well enough. Maybe this was something she could get used to for the short time she lived here, and it wouldn't even be an issue. Until the spin cycle started.

BANG BAM WOCK WOCK WOCK BANG BANG. The washer shook and tumbled all around the room, banging the kitchen counters next to it. The dishes drying on the rack soon began to dance across the counter, precariously headed for the floor.

Sally rushed to the washer and pulled the dial, stopping the hazardous machine in its track. Too scared to turn the machine back on, Sally pulled her soggy clothes out of the machine, rushing to beat the ants. Now it was time to hang her clothes on the drying rack.

Sally quickly ran out of space on the drying rack, and realized she would have to hang some non-unmentionables on the line outside. Though it took some time and critical thinking, Sally was able to hang just about everything on the rack.

Now it was time to POWER DRY. She turned to the fan and flipped it on high. Too much. She flipped to the medium setting. The fan died. With a heavy sigh, she turned it back on high and stepped away. All of her underwear flew up and splatted on the floor.

The end.

Moral of the story: A walk down the street and a hefty amount of quarters are less valuable than Sally's sanity.

Motivation

This is kind of terrible and immature of me, but I don't care. When have I ever cared.

Sometimes, I like to get on Facebook and stalk people that I haven't seen in a long time because that is the true purpose of Facebook. As I was sitting at my computer tonight, I realized we are now living in the year 2013, which just so happens to be the fifth year since my high school graduation, which generally denotes a 5-year reunion, right?

So I thought to myself, "Let's go check out what all the cool kids are up to. They might be saying something about a reunion that I likely wouldn't be able to go to anyway." And here's what I found out:

99% OF THE COOL KIDS HAVE DELETED ME FROM FACEBOOK

Presumably because I took up too much of their valuable newsfeed space whilst not talking about the party I didn't go to last night or how much I'm not going tanning ever.

These are the times I feel motivated to really do something with my life. As whiny and childish as it is, I think to myself: Fuck them. I don't need them, they don't need me, but I'll show them someday. I'll be big and famous and they'll come crying to me for money and popularity and I'll say, who's the cool kid now, biotch? 

Or, I'll just ignore them. Which is the more likely scenario of the two (even though a confrontation like this will most likely never actually happen).

But then I have to remember that I'm no longer in high school, I have moved on, and I've made friends who may or may not have been the cool kids in their own high schools. And they will never have to know I wasn't, even though it probably wouldn't matter to them anyway.

Belated disclaimer: There is that small 1% of the cool kids who were (and are) actually cool, and who will talk to anyone, regardless of caste. These folks are a-okay in my book, and for the record, are still my FB pals.

Conversate

Okay, so, while writing a poem earlier, I used the word "conversate" because sometimes I don't really care about proper English. I mean, obviously I mostly don't give a damn because I am constantly raping it. But my spell checker put that glaring red line underneath it that means "that is not a word, you dumb fuck" and so I had to stop (collaborate and listen), look it up, and sort of decide to myself whether bastardizing my native tongue was worth a rhyme.

In the end, I decided yes. Because fuck you. And with poetry I mostly don't care, I straight-up make up words sometimes. Also, I read this article with which I mostly couldn't disagree. Basically it's saying that language is primarily a means of communication, and so long as we all understand each other...what's the big deal? Just because it isn't "correct" doesn't make it not a word. The fact that people use it in the first place makes it a word. Because words are made by people to communicate a...thing. Yes, this is a winning post from me, I know. Me no good with words.

But then of course, there's that other side of me that's all, "Learn English, Muthafucka!" when I hear my peers say something like, "Can you borrow me that pen?" or type, "I here you were part of they're group." I want to peel their faces off. Because apparently I can ruin proper grammar, but no one else is allowed.

So, I guess what I'm saying here is...um...I'm grammatically bi-polar?

The Smoke Detector That Could

I just read an article about a smoke detector that woke up a couple when their house had started a fire, urging them to safety... OMG A SMOKE DETECTOR JUST DOING ITS JOB.

We really are in the land of Cornfields...